


What Matters

by SBlackmane



Series: Lion, 9:41 Dragon [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: And pure angst., Did I mention this is a slow burn?, I'm Sorry, M/M, So much angst.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 22:09:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16543226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBlackmane/pseuds/SBlackmane
Summary: Cullen goes to Adaar's quarters to give him his gift.The encounter doesn't exactly go as planned.





	What Matters

He didn't remember the trek to the Inquisitor's lofty quarters ever taking this long before. But alas, the expanse of the deserted Great Hall seemed to go on forever, and with each step Cullen took, his heart fluttered more rapidly in his chest. His hands inside their gloves felt sweaty and the whole of him cold and clammy. When he finally reached the door at the end of the hall, he stood with his fist raised, prepared to knock, but hesitated. He was nervous, for several reasons, but mainly, because he didn't know what he would say.

This was a terrible idea. Knowing his luck, Adaar didn't even feel that way about him anymore, and had already moved on, to someone else lucky enough to catch the giant's attention. Perhaps he truly had missed his opportunity back at Haven. And that fear of rejection currently crippled him, kept him rooted to that spot in front of the door, with his hand raised, like an idiot. _I have no idea what I'm doing_ , he bemoaned internally. Why couldn't this come more naturally to him like it seemed to for others?

Everyone around him always seemed to have that confidence he lacked outside the war room. That uncanny ability to hold idle conversation with a person that Cullen struggled with. And no matter how he tried to imitate others–like Varric, for example–he could never quite master that as smoothly and effortlessly as they. He could strategize all day, plan and execute missions, train recruits–utilizing a lot of techniques his former intructors used when training Templars–but if it wasn't combat, it was utterly hopeless.

Serving as a Templar taught him many things. Of course, how to socialize with other living beings was obviously not one of those things. _But Maker knows I can recite every line of Transfigurations at the drop of a hat_ , he thought dismally.

And discussing his feelings? Even more of a struggle. But the weight of a newly crafted ebony pipe suddenly shifted in his pocket, and he let out a sigh, dropping his hand to the blade at his hip. Romantic feelings aside, Ataashi Adaar was still a friend, one he spoke frankly with often enough, and he knew there was little reason to be _quite_ so anxious about this encounter. The Inquisitor was one of the few people he did feel comfortable with, as ironic as that was. That he should let down his guard around an _apostate_ , of all things.

Weeks ago, he never would've guessed that he'd ever reach such an understanding with a mage. He would've thought the idea quite preposterous. Inconceivable, perhaps. Definitely beyond anyone's belief.

But he had. Adaar had proven time and time again that he was nothing like Cullen would've assumed him to be in the beginning. He was honest, and trustworthy. He was always the last person to judge another for their faults, as well as the first to give someone the benefit of doubt. He was kind, and probably the most selfless person Cullen had ever met. And when he smiled...Yes, when Adaar spread those lips apart in a wide, toothy grin, Cullen felt like he could breathe again, like all was right with the world.

And once he saw the beautiful piece of expert craftsmanship clinking in his pocket, surely he would crack one of those smiles, and that alone was worth any trouble on the Commander's part. That thought gave him the courage he needed to set aside all doubts–just as Cassandra advised he should do–and push the door open, taking the steps two at a time. He called for Adaar's attention halfway up. "Inquisitor?" But there was no reply. Once reaching the landing, he understood why his call hadn't been answered.

He smirked at the sight of the kossith sprawled out on a bear rug before the fire, engrossed in what must've been a riveting piece of literature. Cullen delayed making himself known for a moment longer in order to study him. Shirtless and barefoot, wearing only his trousers, one leg bent, the other outstretched, and he licked his thumb to flip the page, then furrowed his brow as he read the words written there. The fire blazing in the hearth cast a warm glow on his glossy black horns and metallic skin, even reflected in his eyes.

His hair was unbraided, and the length of it hung over one shoulder. Cullen could spend hours drinking in the sight of him unbidden, but he doubted the giant would appreciate someone watching him without his knowledge. Cullen never liked that feeling, like he was being watched, so he cleared his throat to get Adaar's attention. He didn't hear, too focused on the book he read, and completely ignored Cullen still. "Ataashi?" Cullen tried, and at the Inquisitor's chosen name, he finally glanced up.

"Cullen! Hey," he said, snapping the book closed. "I didn't hear you enter."

He set down what he was reading and rose to his feet, then towered over the Commander, who had ventured closer. "Good book?"

Adaar quirked a brow. It took a second for him to respond, as if he didn't understand the question at first. "What? Oh. Right. Yeah. _Hard In Hightown._ I've been meaning to finish it, and I finally have every chapter in order." He smirked, then reached to pluck his customary toothpick from his mouth. "Since I'm friends with the author, of course." Cullen chuckled. Adaar shifted into his business stance and folded both arms behind his back like he sometimes did in the war room. "Did you need something, Commander?"

Cullen's eyes flickered over the whole of him for a moment before finally settling on his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words still wouldn't come. So he closed his mouth and resigned to pulling the Inquisitor's gift from the safety of his pocket instead. The Inquisitor blinked rapidly in surprise when Cullen held it out to him. "I came to give you this, actually," he explained, as Adaar accepted the gift, admiring it in the firelight. "I had Herrit make it for you." He bit his lip in angst as he waited for a response.

"Wow," Adaar finally said. He smiled a little. "I didn't know Herrit could make these, otherwise I would've asked. Cullen this is..." He struggled to speak for a moment, before finally saying, "Just wow," with a chuckle. Cullen laughed as well. "Thank you. This was...nice? Is that the word? Wait, yeah, nice. This was nice of you to do. Sorry," He absently scratched the base of his horn, "I still get confused from time to time over what words have what meaning. Especially when I'm..." He grimaced in his frustration.

"Stressed?" Cullen guessed, and he shrugged.

"More or less," he relayed with a sigh. "Thank you, Cullen."

"There's more to it," Cullen told him, remembering the pouch of cured elfroot in his breastpocket. He pulled out the leather pouch next and handed it to him, watching him grin, shaking his head in disbelief. Cullen smiled, and that familiar warmth spread throughout his being upon seeing the desired reaction. Eager to test out the new pipe, Adaar opened the pouch and dug out a pinch of elfroot, then stuffed it in. He took a puff, his fire magic lighting the material aglow, and he hummed in appreciation.

Cullen couldn't help but chuckle a little, especially when he exhaled and once more resembled a brooding dragon. But now he was at a loss of what to do. He'd given Adaar his gift, so what now? He could walk away, bid the Inquisitor goodnight, and head back to his office. Let Adaar return to reading Varric's crime serial, and leave him be. Which would probably be the best way to avoid embarrassment, but he couldn't help but feel like he would just look the coward if he walked away now.

And all of Cassandra's advice swam in his mind. Maybe the best place to start was with Adaar himself, rather than Cullen's feelings. They could work their way up to that.

"You haven't been the same since Haven," he pointed out, and Adaar met his gaze. He seemed less anxious now that he had his preferred vice, but at Cullen's words, his mood shifted back into sullen once more. He sighed and nodded in understanding.

"Sorry about that," he said, then turned away from Cullen, moving to lean against the desk in the corner, and the Commander followed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Cullen asked him, as he hunkered down, resting on the desk, folding one leg over the other, easing the strain in Cullen's neck now that they were eyelevel. Adaar hesitated.

"You know, you have enough to deal with right now, and I'd rather not–"

"Ataashi," Cullen interrupted, folding his arms. "I could pull rank and tell you that as Commander, and adviser to the Inquisition's leader, your concerns are my concerns. Regardless of the state of things I should be available to hear them. But I am, also, your friend. So as a friend, I'm asking if you want to talk about it. You don't have to, but...If you want, I would gladly listen."

He puffed on his elfroot a moment longer before responding. What he said threw Cullen for a bit of a loop at first, until he took Adaar's past into consideration. "I've never _mattered_ before," he said. With a lost expression, as if he'd been asked to solve a great riddle, but hadn't the solution to it. He massaged his shoulder like he was in pain, but his expression was more like confusion. "This is...strange to me. When my father found me I was _bas_. Nothing. I've never been... _important_ like this. It's just hard to deal with sometimes."

Cullen sighed, realizing what the problem must be, and moved to lean against the desk next to him, Adaar shifting a little to give him room.

He could feel the body heat rolling off the giant in waves, and tried to ignore the way such close proximity to the man made him feel. Now was definitely not the right time to discuss such things. It seemed Adaar had need of advice–for once–which was intriguing. Only Cullen wasn't sure what to say. He'd gone from _saarebas_ to Inquisitor of Thedas. He'd gone from being literally considered a _thing_ , not even a person, no more than a tool used for the Qun's agenda, to now being one of the most influential people on the continent.

This was a step above simply being the only person to survive the explosion, or even the only one among them able to seal rifts. Certainly a step above being yet another Tal-Vashoth having broke free of the Qun. He was now a leader, a figurehead, whose decisions would shape the world. Whose voice would be heard. Whose life... _mattered_. He was struggling to wrap his head around that, as well as becoming overwhelmed by the pressure, but it wasn't as if he could just _quit_ if he wanted.

"I can't even begin to understand how you feel, so I won't pretend to," Cullen said. "But I do know what it's like to suddenly be thrust into something entirely foreign to you, and having to abandon everything you once knew." The Inquisitor raised a dark brow at that, but said nothing, simply puffed on his pipe. And there was another thing. He was awfully pensive, as of late. Getting him to speak his thoughts on a subject was a lot harder than it ever used to be. Cullen would take it personally, only he did it with everyone.

But finally, after a time, Adaar looked over at him and said, "Don't tell anyone I told you this, but...just between you and me, sometimes I miss it."

"The Qun?" Cullen asked.

"Yeah. Someone else being in control. Is that insane, or what?"

Cullen took a breath. "Perhaps not as insane as you might think," he admitted slowly. Sometimes Cullen felt that way. It was easier to excuse past transgressions if there were someone else to blame for them. "When we're not held accountable for our actions, it's easier to shift the blame for the mistakes we make...But no matter what we do, or what we're _forced_ to do, regardless, there are always consequences. Only what they are is what changes, and all that matters is how we accept them."

The Inquisitor considered that for a moment. Cullen imagined he could interpret that many ways, maybe even see the parallel in Cullen's words to his actions in Kirkwall, or even his actions as Commander of the Inquisition. But regardless of how he took those words, he simply nodded, and said, "Yeah, I think I get that...That...actually helps."

"I'm glad," Cullen told him.

"I appreciate having you to talk to."

Cullen smiled a little, though it was tight, and constrained, not quite as genuine as he wished it to be. He was now thinking of his past mistakes, his time in Kirkwall, and how much everything had changed. How much what he and the Inquisitor accomplished _mattered_ , and how inconsequential his feelings were. Lives hung in the balance, and should they fail, there was no one to blame. He couldn't afford to complicate matters at a time like this. Cassandra would likely wring his neck, but there was no way possible he could tell Adaar the truth.

Or perhaps that was simply the excuse he chose to make.

He took a deep breath and was about to rise from his spot on the desk, intent on leaving.

"Speaking of talking," Adaar stopped him. "You've been acting strange lately too. Something on your mind?"

"Oh, no," he shook his head in denial. "Well, not anymore than usual. Just...comes with the position, I suppose."

"Liar," the Inquisitor chuckled. Cullen chewed his lip in angst. "You can be honest. Something to do with the Lyrium, maybe?"

"No," Cullen shook his head. "No, I've been managing that. As well as I can, at any rate. But I appreciate the concern."

"Then it's me," Adaar told him, and Cullen sighed. It was. It was most certainly the Inquisitor. Cullen was about to deny it, but Adaar said, "You know, things have been weird between us ever since..." A look of sudden realization came across his face, and Cullen suspected the cause of it. "Shit, you're mad at me because I hit on you."

Right, well, he didn't expect Adaar to think _that_. "No, no, I'm not angry with you for that," he corrected. "I'm not–I'm just–Well, what I mean to say is-" He groaned. He didn't know _what_ he was trying to say. "Ataashi, I..."

"I'm not upset with you for rejecting me, you know," Adaar said. "You–you _do_ know that, right? I don't want you to think–I mean, it's okay if you-"

"No, it's..." Cullen sighed, rubbing his temple. _Maker, we're both really bad at this aren't we?_ he thought. "It's not what you think it is."

"Then what is it?"

It was _everything_. It was the Inquisition. It was Cullen's deepest fears. It was his inexperience. It was his Maker-damned inability to say anything right. Worried that if he blurted how he truly felt, it would change everything. And even if things should turn out favorably, what would people think? Should they learn their Commander was involved with the Inquisitor? What would the men under his command think of him then? He wasn't sure he could handle the humiliation, the ridicule.

The rumors that would spread about him–the whispers behind his back.

The snickering.

He swallowed nervously, his heart suddenly in his throat.

"I have to go," he said, and turned to walk quickly away.

"Whoa, hey, wait," Adaar said as he crossed the floor, and he could hear steps behind him, the Inquisitor getting up and following him. He felt a large hand curl around his elbow when he reached the landing, and he jerked it away. "Cullen?"

"Goodnight, Inquisitor," he clipped, and darted down the stairs.

"Dammit," he heard the Inquisitor sigh behind him.

Maker, how he wished he could turn and walk back up those steps.

But he didn't.

Going up there was a mistake to begin with.

 _Oh what does it matter anymore?_ he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, sorry.


End file.
